


Anything

by KariAnn1222



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:25:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KariAnn1222/pseuds/KariAnn1222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He croaks my name then, his voice a question, and I know what he’s asking: He’s seeking my permission, and it’s clear to me that he’s fearful I’ll deny him—that I’ll deny what we both want so desperately.  I whisper my response, a simple 'anything,' and he wastes no time in grasping me by my hips and lifting me onto the edge of the desk..."</p><p>COMPLETE! Ron and Hermione take comfort in each other during a short reprieve from the final battle.  </p><p>Was originally intended as a multi-chaptered story but am posting as a oneshot for the time being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This story was originally posted at FFnet as a multi-chaptered story with two subsequent chapters written & posted, but I made the decision to pull it when I realized that I didn’t have the time/energy to devote to another multi-chaptered fic. However, since this first chapter works well as a stand-alone, I decided to go ahead & post it as a oneshot here at AO3 for your enjoyment.
> 
> A fellow author & friend that I trust implicitly has kindly agreed to “adopt” this fic when she has the chance, but until that time comes this story will remain marked as “complete” with just the first chapter posted.
> 
> Warnings: Contains adult content & language & isn’t intended for the kiddies.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise and am making no money from writing this. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

Is this really happening?

Everything is entirely too surreal.

Only minutes have passed since Harry, Ron, and I returned from the Shrieking Shack after witnessing Severus Snape’s horrific, violent end, only to find another horror awaiting us in the Great Hall: the dead, lined side by side, clothing ripped, faces smeared with dirt and grime, some horribly mangled and disfigured beyond recognition. Their surviving family and friends knelt nearby, either sobbing or else too stunned to do much more than stare in extreme dismay and shock…

Among the dead were Professor Lupin, Tonks, and Ron’s brother, Fred. Among the mourners were the other Weasleys…

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper in the present, my voice trembling as my own tears threaten to overwhelm me and Ron lavishes my throat with sloppy nips and kisses. I can feel the wetness from his tears on my flesh, intermingling with his saliva. “Ron, I’m so sorry…”

In response, he groans in a sort of agony that I can’t possibly fathom, his arm around my waist tightening its hold on me almost painfully as he presses me more fully against him, and I can feel him, erect and unapologetic against my stomach through our layers of clothing. His other hand is beneath my jumper, hot against my flesh, squeezing my breasts through my bra; I gasp as a rush of unfettered desire shoots straight to my core in response, heating me from the inside out, and I feel guilty for taking pleasure from this when this isn’t about me.

Although, admittedly, I hadn’t intended this when I took his hand minutes ago and quietly led him away from his grieving family, who had seemed oblivious, blinded by their anguish…

Or, perhaps—I admit to myself only reluctantly—that’s not entirely accurate… I had been aware, at least on a certain level, when I decided to lead him into an empty classroom and ward the doors that my intentions weren’t entirely innocent: I hadn’t intended us to simply talk or to merely give him a should to cry on.

Nevertheless, as his mouth trails back up my jaw and fuses with mine once more, his tongue probing desperately between my lips, I find that I can’t make sense of how this happened… One moment I’m warding the door, and the next his hands are on me, his mouth meeting mine in a fumbling but frenzied kiss—our second of the night—as he backs us into a desk…

My hands snake around his back as I return his kiss just as fervently, and I find myself marveling vaguely at how broad his shoulders have become in the past year or so. He groans my name, undoubtedly viewing my actions as encouragement as his fingers fumble with the zip of my trousers, and suddenly he’s pushing them—along with my knickers—slowly down my hips, giving me every opportunity to stop him.

I’m a bit taken aback by the cold gust of wind, bending reality into sudden, sharp focus. I should stop him. I know where this is going.

But I don’t.

I want to comfort him. I want to be comforted by him. I want this; I want to do something rash and raw and to know that I’m still alive—at least for now.

I try not to think about Voldemort awaiting Harry in the Forbidden Forest; I try not to think about Fred’s lifeless body among the dead in the Great Hall; I try not to think about my parents, tucked away in Australia and, hopefully, out of harm’s way; I try not to think about anything but the fact that Ron has managed to work my trousers and knickers down my ankles, and that I’ve kicked off one shoe, successfully freeing one leg.

My eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness of the room, and I look up into his face: I can just make out the telling puffiness of his eyes, and my heart breaks for him; again, I swallow back a sob. I must stay strong for him.

He croaks my name then, his voice a question, and I know what he’s asking: He’s seeking my permission, and it’s clear to me that he’s fearful I’ll deny him—that I’ll deny what we both want so desperately.

I whisper my response, a simple “anything,” and he wastes no time in grasping me by my hips and lifting me onto the edge of the desk. My heart is beating a rapid tattoo in combined nerves and anticipation, my breathing erratic when he steps between my legs; I then hear the telltale sound of a zipper lowering and a rustling of clothing, and his fingers are suddenly probing clumsily between my legs, hot against my most private flesh.

I gasp, overcome, when he inserts a long, thick finger into my body and pumps in and out experimentally. “Fuck, you’re wet…so bloody tight…,” he gasps in evident awe, his voice a throaty rasp, and I tremble in response, clutching onto him and stifling a whimper as I bury my face in his scratchy throat.

This can’t really be happening. Was I really about to let Ron have his way with me on a desk in the middle of a war, with so many dead?

I really should put a stop to this.

But, again, I don’t.

Instead, I wrap my trembling legs around his waist, and then his fingers are gone, and I can feel him there—something hard yet velvety prodding at my inner thigh as he leans over me, bracing himself on the desk behind me while hungrily kissing me once more. “Hermione,” he breathes again when our lips part, something akin to adoration in his voice, and I brace myself for what‘s to come.

Just before he enters me in a sharp thrust, I’m very conscious of my own inexperience and of the fact that I have no idea if he’s ever done this before. (We’ve never discussed Lavender, not once.)

But then he penetrates me, and the pain is staggering, driving all else from mind…

We cry out in unison, but I know instinctively that his outcry is the result of intense pleasure rather than the horrid discomfort that I’m experiencing—so I bury my face against his jumper-clad chest and hope that he mistakes the sounds I’m making for sounds of pleasure. I don’t want him to feel guilty, and I don’t want him to stop. (After hearing him bellowing my name at Malfoy Manor, I’m more than aware that he can’t bear the idea of me being in any sort of pain—particularly the idea that he might be the one to cause me pain.)

Despite feeling as if my body is being ripped apart, there’s something decidedly primal about the encounter that I relish; perhaps it’s merely the idea that I’m doing something so spontaneous, something so wildly uncharacteristic, but I know that it’s mostly because I’m joined together with Ron—my Ron—in the most intimate manner possible.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper in a shaky voice, trying to control the trembling in my limbs, and it’s all the encouragement he needs to begin drilling into me, his thrusts just as sloppy as his kisses, giving me the hopeful impression that he hasn’t, in fact, done this before.

The pain is gradually replaced by a mounting pleasure between my legs, and I meet him thrust-for-thrust, moaning, savoring the sound of my name leaving his lips in a breathy litany and the wet, slapping sound of flesh-against-flesh that fills the room…

His hips lock against mine after several more erratic plunges, and I feel him pulsing inside me as he releases, a string of curses streaming from his lips, his head falling to my shoulder; I hadn’t reached my own climax, but it hardly matters.

All that matters is this. That I’m here with him, and I gave him what he needed. What we both needed.

His body shakes violently against mine as his sobs renew, and I make shushing noises and kiss his sweaty head, my arms wrapping around his neck tightly, holding him against me. I’m more than aware of the stickiness between my legs, where our bodies are still connected, and of the fact that we’re both half-dressed, but none of it matters.

He leans up just enough to kiss me again, and, just before his lips descend on mine, I see the tears glinting in his blond lashes by the dim lighting. I can taste his tears as they slide down our lips, and I cup his face, overcome by affection for him.

“Love you,” he breathes as our lips part, and I know that, whether we survive this night or not, I don’t regret what just occurred between us.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not one to think that Hermione would, under normal circumstances, not think about birth control, but I like to think that they’re so passionate about each other that, given the RIGHT circumstances, they might be driven to throw caution to the wind. ;)
> 
> If you’re a first-time reader of mine, you may also enjoy my works-in-progress:
> 
> “The Waiting Place,” winner of Best AU, Best Ron, & Best Hermione*
> 
> “Permission Slip” (co-authored by JesWithOneEss/jesrod82), winner of The Smuttastic Award*
> 
> My completed multi-chaptered fics:
> 
> “Hallowed Hearts,” winner of Best Romance & Third Place Best Hermione*
> 
> “Coming to Term”
> 
> “Skimming Stones & Skinny-Dipping,” nominated for Best Romance, Best Ron, & Best Hermione*
> 
> My short stories (less than 10 chapters) & oneshots:
> 
> “Survival 101” (Written for Romione Smut at Tumblr.)
> 
> “The Aurors’ Wives”
> 
> “Second Chances & New Beginnings”
> 
> “Double the Pleasure, Double the Fun”
> 
> “Of Tragedy, Triumph, & Virginity”
> 
> * In the 2012 Romione Awards at Tumblr


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